Cherem
by svirna
Summary: Believing himself damned with cherem, the most destructive of ancient curses, Harry decides to go back in time. His purpose is simple: to save everyone who died for and because of him by preventing himself from being born. No pairing yet, definitely a romance later.


Chapter 1

**A/N:** **Cherem**, Hebrew _accursed, ban, curse, devoted, devoted to destruction, devoted thing, set apart, something banned, things devoted, things devoted to destruction._

"…cursed he be by day and cursed be he by night; cursed be he when he lies down, and cursed be he when he rises up; cursed be he when he goes out, and cursed be he when he comes in…"

Harry took another hearty swallow of Firewhiskey toasting an unknown seventeenth century Rabbi with his bottle. The guy had sure known how to curse.

"…and bring upon him all the curses which are written in this book, and the Lord will blot out his name from under heaven, and the Lord will separate him to his injury from all the tribes of Israel with all the curses of the covenant…"

Finally switching the telly off Harry stared moodily into the bottle. Bully for Spinoza who, according to the documentary, had shrugged off the Anathema of the Amsterdam congregation with a nonchalant 'Very well, that does not force me to do anything I would not have done of my own.' After all, the good Rabbi had been considerate enough to have shielded 'all the tribes of Israel' including presumably Spinoza's nearest and dearest from the cherem's reach. The guy was therefore free to embrace his destiny without worrying unduly about his friends and family. What a relief it must have been!

Harry flung the bottle at the wall of his dingy muggle flat only to have recalled it wandlessly before it got smashed of the hard surface. No sense in wasting good malt.

He would have to fill another order for the old Ogden soon. Ah, well. It's not like he lacked for funds. His parents and Sirius had seen to that. Hell, even the twins had seen to that, having made sure that he owned a third of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes now. That's what, four people had died to ensure his financial stability? Well, technically he'd have owned his share of WWW even if George had had survived the Battle of Hogwarts. Then again, the only reason the battle had happened at all was because he, Harry, had shown up without coherent plans or any idea what he'd been looking for in the first place.

_On this night_, _you have allowed your friends to die for you, Harry Potter…_

_Harry finished his bottle in one gulp and immediately summoned another. Anything to get rid of that voice in his head. Anything to banish the faces of the dead. His parents. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Snape. George. Remus. Tonks. Teddy…The bottle exploded in his hands as he sat there seething in the impotent rage. What a waste…_

_It was Teddy's pointless death in a muggle Zoo that had finally forced him to face the truth. Looking back, he could hardly believe that he'd been able to delude himself for so long. After the war they all had put brave cheerful faces on their losses and gone about rebuilding their lives. Sure, the enforced cheerfulness grated occasionally, and it had been a rare night when Harry wouldn't wake up drenched in sweat and shaking from the latest nightmare. But then he would touch his healed, now barely visible scar, whisper 'All is well' to his own bleary-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror and start his day with a new determination. _

True, he had noticed that not everything had been great about this brave new world. His and Ginny's relationship had fallen a victim to the past-war cut-throat anything-goes media hysteria. Harry had taken it on the chin. Not everyone finds their soul-mate while still at school. Granted, his (and Ginny's) parents belonged to the lucky few who had, but his own grandparents from what he'd been able to find out had married later in their lives and been very happy together all the same. Besides which, he'd still had Teddy. Screw you, Count Tolstoi, not all happy families are alike!

Then his first ever trainee had been captured by a rogue Death Eater. By the time Harry had got to him the cheerful Hafflepuff had been barely recognisable. Roy had already qualified as an Auror by then, and was technically not Harry' responsibility, as Ron and Hermione had been quick to point out. Too quick. Harry had said to himself that such things were occupational hazards in their profession. Still Roy had been their first post-war casualty…

Harry glanced resentfully at the mess he'd made. He'd have to send a new order tonight then, and make do with muggle beverages in the meantime. Briefly he wondered whether he should tidy up and vanish the shards, only to shrug indifferently a moment later. He was too drunk to maintain the focus necessary for wandless magic, and he avoided using his wand for fear of being traced. It wasn't of course as if he feared being tracked by his enemies. _A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely._ Forgive me, Sirius.

No, it was his friends he'd done his damnedest to avoid. _'Damnedest', how apt_… Ron and Hermione would scoff at the idea of being cursed, placed under cherem. Though it was from Hermione he'd first heard of Spinoza in the first place… They would dismiss the entire notion as fanciful would stick with him to the end… _Their_ end.

_"…no one should communicate with him orally or in writing, or show him any favour, or stay with him under the same roof..."_ Whatever immortal entity had cursed him, they had certainly neglected to warn the rest of the humanity about taking these simple precautions. The Dursleys were the only ones with enough sense to recognize the threat, to see his presence as contaminating… Perhaps that was what had saved them in the end. Dudley had only been _nearly_ desouled… And now that he thought of it, Dumbledore might have had an inkling. He'd certainly had made sure that Harry had as little contact with the wizarding community, as possible. And he might not have thought the Dursleys worthy of consideration, Harry thought cynically. Well, Harry would just have to ensure his own banishment now. Better late than never.

Could he have saved Teddy by staying away? Or was simply being his godfather enough to attract death, destruction and 'all the curses of the covenant' to the boy? _I don't remember making any covenants…_

He'd really thought that Teddy had dodged the curse of the war. Back then Harry had still believed, had _wanted_ to believe that it was a generational Scourge rather than the individual Anathema. And everything had been looking up for Teddy. The boy hadn't even been a werewolf. Not that it would have mattered for Harry, but for Teddy it would have been a complication. But Teddy had been _fine_! He'd been such a great kid. Kind, smart, talented. He'd taken to wearing his hair black and messy. Harry'd been touched, but he'd felt guilty too. They'd been family, and they'd been happy, but he hadn't wanted to erase the memory of Remus. So he'd talk about Remus, Tonks, the marauders, his DADA lessons and his Patronus, werewolves… And Teddy would listen; his changeable eyes wide open in wonder… It was he, Harry, who had nurtured the boy's interest in all things werewolf, and it was because of that on Teddy's seventh birthday the boy had talked his muggle great-aunt into taking him to the Edinburgh Zoo to see wolves. Harry had been on an assignment, expected to come later in the evening, the shrunken muggle and magical presents stuffed in his pocket even as he'd conducted a search at yet another Dark wizard's mansion.

If only he'd known. If only he'd been on hand. But Ms Tonks had been visiting Andromeda, and Andromeda had thought nothing of letting them go. _Right_. Harry sneered mentally at himself. _Way to assign the blame_. It wasn't Andromeda who'd filled the boy's head with all the werewolf stuff. She was the one who thought Teddy had been way too young for that sort of thing…

In the end Teddy's reaction to wolves had been exactly like Harry's one to a boa constrictor once upon a time. The boy had freed them from their enclosure in a bout of accidental magic. Only unlike the friendly boa, the wolves had celebrated their freedom by ripping the liberator to shreds. Harry had tracked and killed every one of them in fit of futile impotent revenge. Then he'd vanished from the wizarding world right after Teddy's funeral. And now his only communication with said world was through his regular orders to Tiberius Ogden, the owner of Ogden's Firewhiskey. Speaking of which…

_Hopefully old Tiberius won't get smitten with a lightning bolt for supplying me with his finest malt._ Harry smirked cynically, as he scribbled a short note. Then again, he mused, the ancient wizard might be a hundred if he was a day… How long do you need to live anyway, if you don't have a family like Ogden, and don't concern yourself with the Greater Good like Dumbledore? Harry certainly couldn't wait for his "next great adventure". He would have hurried it along, except he had a feeling that whoever had put the cherem on him would consider it cheating…

Casting another disinterested look at the mess on the floor, Harry took the order and exited the flat. He would have to deliver it personally.

Harry loved travelling in his animagus form. Initially he'd started the whole animagus training thing as a precaution. Back then he'd still worried that Teddy might have had a lycanthropy in some form or another after all. It was just as well that those fears had proved to be unfounded. He'd have been of no use to the boy in his avian form. Still being a hawk could be dead useful on occasion. Like now, for instance. He couldn't very well keep an owl in a muggle neighbourhood. Truth to be told he couldn't bring himself to replace Hedwig even before his self-banishment.

Harry spotted the window of Tiberius's study being open and flew confidently in, his order firmly in his beak. The ancient wizard looked up from a scroll he was reading.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," he said calmly. "Why don't you assume your human form? It's just common courtesy."

Harry pretended to be a dumb creature he appeared and merely dropped his order at the Tiberius's desk.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Potter! Indulge this old man, why don't you? Have a drink with me now and I'll personally see to your order. Saves time, no?"

"When you put it like that…" Harry transformed. "How did you know it was me? I am not on the registry."

"My wards warn me of a human presence every time you bring your orders. It's not difficult to put two and two together."

"I see. How 'bout that drink then?"

"Certainly," Tiberius sent for his elf, asked for some light snacks and opened his wine cabinet. "Ogden's finest! You won't be disappointed. And may I say how gratifying it is to have such a faithful customer? Filling and delivering those orders is the extent of your communication with our world, is it not?"

"Pretty much. What can I say? Your malt is worth your exorbitant prices."

"It is somewhat dear, I own. Still you can well afford it."

"Yes, I am fortunate."

The old wizard chuckled and handed Harry a tumbler. "Hardly that. But you are rich. We have that in common, you and I."

"What, being rich or being non-fortunate?"

"Both. Tell me, Mr. Potter, if you were presented with a chance to change the past, would you take it?"

"With my record I'd be likely to create an even greater mess," Harry took a sip. Ahhh. Bliss. Nothing could even begin to compare with the stuff. He drunk the whole lot and sent his tumbler silently to Tiberius for a refill.

"Hmm. You equate vanquishing the greatest of dark wizards with making a mess?"

"You know about … 'bout cherem?" Harry slurred slightly. In the back of his mind he knew he was drunk and should shut up, but his tongue seemed to have other ideas. Perhaps it was the malt, or the fact that at the long last he had someone other than voices in his head to talk to. Most likely, both. "They put it on S.. Thpinoza in the sssithteen thifties. Only they made sssure he was the only one af.. athlicted. I'm… I'm like that too. Everyone who sh..shows me a favour is also c..cursed. You really sh..shouldn't h..have offered me a drink, y'know…"

"Oh, don't worry about that, I am an old man," Ogden dismissed. "And I would deserve Anathema anyway."

"W-why? You don't water your whiskey, do you? No, I know you don't. I wouldn't have flown a hundred miles th-south, if you did."

"No, no. Never that. I pride myself on the quality of my malt, No, you could say that I loved unwisely… Rather like poor Albus did, if Skeeter's insinuations to be believed…"

"You … you were in love with Grindelwald?"

"No, with Voldemort."

Harry stared at the wizened old man. He was suddenly feeling less hazy.

"You gotta be kidding me! What was there to _love_?!"

"Oh, don't be so dismissive, Harry, (may I call you Harry?) A man who is unable to inspire love in others could never acquire a following." Ogden sighed. "Not that I was among those grovelling fools. No, I loved the man when he still called himself Tom Riddle."

"He became Voldemort while still in Hogwarts," Harry objected.

"To his coterie of sycophants, yes, he did. He still presented himself as Tom to everyone else after the graduation."

Harry thought it over.

"Do you hate me? For killing him?"

"My dear boy, you only destroyed a shell that contained a mutilated fragment of his soul. No, I am grateful to you. I wish I could have done the same, but I know I wouldn't have, even had I had an opportunity to do so. Pitiful, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Harry felt far too sober for his liking now and took another sip.

"Why all this talk of chances?" Harry asked suspiciously. He'd had enough of wily old men with questionable taste in lovers using him for some mad schemes they'd concocted.

"Oh, I thought a lot about chances in the last decade or two," Tiberius took a careful sip from his tumbler. "My friend Xeno Lovegood tells me you were interested in the Hallows during the war?"

"Even if I was, I am not now."

"And yet, you must be the master of the Wand."

"Imagine how many people want to kill me because of that."

"Oh, quite. But you can't cease being its master by merely refusing to use it."

"No. I can only do it by ceasing to exist. Hence people wanting to kill me."

"Indeed. I relinquished my own private quest when I realised that Albus was the one the Wand had chosen."

"So you wanted to be a Master of Death? Why? What are the perks of the job? I've never quite known."

"Which means, you didn't know what you were rejecting?"

"I chose humanity over immortality," Harry chuckled. "Merlin, I sound like a pompous ass. Must be your whiskey talking."

"Not at all, not at all. Very wise choice, I assure you, I entirely sympathise. Though, if I may say so, you are labouring under a misapprehension. The Mastery of Death is not about immortality.

"No? Seems to be a case of false advertising then."

"Yet you of all people, Harry, should know that a mortal man can triumph over Death and still remain human."

Harry sighed.

"This is a bit too profound for me, sir. I am a soldier, not a philosopher."

"So your interest in Spinoza is purely accidental?"

"Well, you know about the Curse," Harry felt somewhat embarrassed now. "It could have been written about me."

"Cherem is a form of censure, Harry. What could you have possibly done to deserve it? You were babe in arms back then," Tiberius challenged.

Harry shrugged.

"What did Job do to deserve his misfortune? From the moment the bloody Prophesy was made some poor sod born at the end of July was going to be doomed. Voldemort ensured it was me." Harry touched his faint scar. "This may as well be the Mark of Cain. Protection for myself and death and destruction for anything and anyone I love."

"Hmm. You know what Spinoza says about prophesies? That they really include ordinary knowledge."

Harry rubbed his forehead tiredly. The combination of philosophy and booze really started to give him a headache.

"By which he means?" he asked warily.

"In a nutshell, he means that prophesies require no supernatural interpretations. They can only function through mediation by both prophets and their audiences. And the faculty that perform this function in both cases is imagination."

Harry mulled it over.

"So you are saying what? That I just imagined being cursed?"

"It is a possibility."

"And another possibility is that I actually am cursed, right?"

"Well, I suppose we can't discard it altogether."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"You know what. You can have your philosophy. I'll stick to my whiskey. Or, rather, _your_ whiskey," he smirked and mock-toasted the old man.

"Well, that would ensure my profits for some time to come," Tiberius chuckled, "but you have another, much more intriguing option to consider."

"Is that about the Master of Death thing again?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Why would you even care?"

"I'll tell you why in a moment. But first things first. I was just rereading Absalom the Wise when you flew in. He claims to have achieved the Mastery of Death and rewritten the past. There is also a brief history section in his treatise where he lists two other known cases." Tiberius looked at Harry with a triumphant little smile. "You could do the same."

Harry thought back at the long bloody struggle to save the world and fulfil the Prophesy. Did Tiberius think he would jump at the chance to do _that_ again?! With his luck he'd just get Ron and Hermione killed, if he were arrogant enough to try.

"I don't think so, sir. Not only it sounds dodgy and against the laws of nature, I still have a few people I care about left. I don't want to see them destroyed just because I felt like starting a war all over again."

"If it is against the laws of nature, you just won't succeed, Harry. As our friend Spinoza pointed out, 'nothing is forbidden by the laws of nature, except what is beyond everyone's power'. And if it is in your power to master Death and rewrite the past, then you can quite literally 'blot out your name from under heaven'. The cherem would be fulfilled.

Harry felt shivers crawling down his spine. 'Blot out the name' … That meant… What did it mean?...

"Are you saying that I could go back and stop mum and dad from having me?!"

"If you choose."

"I… but… you mean I should … meddle with their relationship? Make sure they'd never marry?" Harry stammered. "That's…"

"If you believer the curse to be real, you must admit it can be considered as an impediment to their marriage."

"Merlin…"

They sat in silence for a few minutes nursing their respective drinks.

"How can I even prevent myself from existing while still to all extents and purposes exiting?" Harry wondered aloud.

"We can discuss time and space conundrums till we are both hoarse, but you yourself admit to being a man of action rather than reflection. Suffice it to say, that as the Master of Death you could."

"You still haven't said what that is to you," Harry reminded somewhat rudely.

"I too have regrets, Harry. Most of those seeking the Hallows do. Unless they are ignorant and arrogant enough to believe they would bring them power and immortality."

Harry thought of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. OK for arrogant. But ignorant? Well, they were just two teenagers, however talented. One thing for sure though, their showdown was inevitable, Ariana, or no Ariana. There could only be one Master of Death.

"And what is your particular regret?" he asked. "Wait, wait! If there is no me, no one's challenging Voldemort, right? So you don't want him killed, after all!" he accused.

"Do you think no one, but you can destroy Horcruxes, Harry? I understand Albus got rid of one. And he certainly could duel Tom and live to tell the tale."

Harry's mind was reeling. No prophesy. No Chosen One. Actual adults getting off their asses and doing their actual jobs, instead of waiting for children to save the world. Or, worse, raising them as some sacrificial animals… If only it could be true…

"So why _are_ you getting involved?"

The old wizard sighed.

"I have never had family, Harry. Back in my day my preferences were barely tolerated, so I used the obvious advantages of magic to conduct discreet liaisons in the muggle world. Oh, no, nothing nefarious," Tiberius assured, noticing Harry's frown. "But you have to admit that disguises and discretion are easier to achieve if you are a wizard. I was already well in my forties when I met Tom in the old Borgin's shop… Well, he used me as he did everyone else of course… And for quite a while I let him…"

"Did he steal from you too?"

"Some. Though my elder brother was still alive then, and most family heirlooms belonged to him. He never did like Tom… Well, the long and short of it is that the eventual disappointment was … devastating. Took me some years to recover… And then my brother Bob died. I was the last Ogden left. So I decided to marry." Tiberius looked up at Harry as if expecting some reaction. Harry shrugged and motioned him to continue.

"I didn't look for love, and I was already rich. So I thought I might do something good and charitable while I was at it. I decided to marry a squib."

Harry grimaced. Before Hermione pushed through the Wizengamot a law protecting squibs' rights their lot had been about as enviable as that of house-elves. A marriage, even a loveless one to a decent, not to mention rich and influential wizard would have been like a get-out-of-jail card.

"So what happened?"

"I paid for her trough the nose to her family only to find out that she was passionately in love with her uncle's employee, an impecunious half-blood boy. They would have never been allowed to marry. But once my contract with said uncle had been signed I was in a position to help them. Arranged for them to have eloped right amid our betrothal ball. Quite pleased with my own magnanimity, I was. And secretly relieved too, if truth to be told."

"Couldn't you help them without signing the contract?"

"No. I needed the uncle to sign his rights over. Magical families had absolute authority over squibs relatives back then. Still do in most cases."

"Hermione –" Harry started.

"Missis Weasely efforts are most commendable. Unfortunately there is still a gulf between the good new law and its implementation. Not only squibs lack the means to insist on their rights upon attaining majority, the new law prompts their guardians to push the girls into concubinage before they even seventeen so they wouldn't have a legal right to protest."

Harry goggled at the old man.

"Are you saying their families practice trafficking?!"

"Oh, yes. Squibs are almost exclusively born into pureblood families. Their bloodlines therefore are impeccable and it is well known that offspring of a squib and a wizard is often magical. And if not, why, you can always try another squib. An ideal solution for a confirmed bachelor in need of an heir. That's how I met Ruth in the first place. She was offered t me."

Harry felt slightly sick. He wondered if Tiberius had a hangover potion on hand.

"How could I have never heard of that?! I used to be an Auror. Still am technically."

"You are muggle-raised. Some subjects just aren't discussed in company."

"You are in Wizengamot, though," Harry remembered. "Why don't you do something about it?"

"I do, actually, in my own quiet way. Blunt force is not to be underestimated, but sometimes subtlety can achieve better results."

"What house were you in, Slytherin?"

"Hufflepuff. Those school divisions seem so petty in retrospect, I find."

"OK, so what it has to do with my possible coming back?"

"I am getting to that. At first it seemed to the world at large that I was a dupe, an old fool, cheated out of a nubile young bride. And after paying for her a king's ransom to boot. And I have to admit, it did sting a little. Not that I regretted helping the young couple of course, but I didn't appreciate being the butt of everyone's jokes. So I showed my hand, by helping them further. Following the runaway marriage, Ruth's husband had of course lost his job at her uncle's business. I hired him instead." Tiberius took another sip and sighed.

"At about the same time Tom made his first moves in his war on the Ministry. He needed followers and he needed funds too. Quite a few people who didn't fancy being his cannon fodder were 'persuaded' to contribute gold and favours to his cause. He expected me to do the same… But I refused. I even pointed out that I had already done as much, if unintentionally. Tom was not amused. It was his custom to chastise the recalcitrant by making example of their relatives. And since I had none… He made an example of Ruth and her husband. They were both killed. And not very cleanly at that." Tiberius put his glass down with a loud click.

Harry remained silent. What was there to say, 'I am sorry'?

"So you want me to er, go back and shield them somehow?" he asked eventually.

"Oh, no, no. Ruth is not your responsibility. I want you merely to prevent me from hiring her husband. If you could transport yourself, let me see… Say February 1976? And come to me immediately. We could help each other with our little agendas."

Harry made a swift mental calculation. February 1976. His parents fifth year. He could try to stop Snape from calling his mum a 'mudblood'. Would the Slythering have a chance with her if they were still friends for the two remaining years in Hogwarts? Well, Harry would just have to try and help.

"OK, I am either drunk or crazy, most likely both; but suppose I agree, how it works then? Do I simply assemble the Hallows together?"

"There is a ritual. I'll help with that. You'll need my knowledge of Runes. And then, naturally, you would have to assert your mastery over Death by summoning it."

"Uh, how?"

"By killing yourself, of course."

Harry stared at him.

"Are you sure you aren't avenging Tom?"

"I'll make a Vow, if you insist."

"No, that's fine," suddenly Harry felt light-headed. "Just checking. Besides, if it doesn't work, so what? I'll just die. Win-win."

Tiberius looked at him steadily.

"Will you do it then?"

"Yeah… I reckon…"

"Good. Remember that it is only a one time opportunity. You won't be able to rewrite history again if you aren't satisfied with the results." Tiberius stood up and picked the scroll he'd been reading.

"Once you are back in the past come to me at once and show me this conversation in the Pensieve. I will help you."

"Are you sure you'll listen to me long enough to let me use the Pensieve?"

Tiberius frowned for a few moments.

"My Pensieve will be locked with a Latin password. "Odi et amo." Tell me the password and I will allow you the use of it."

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'I hate and I love' even he knew that one.

"Don't worry," Tiberius gave him a lopsided smile. "I reset it after Ruth's death. Shall we?" he added briskly.

"What right now?"

"There is no time like present." Tiberius chuckled at some private joke.

"Are you afraid I won't go for it once sober?"

"There is a risk."

"Very well," Harry raised his tumbler and drank up his Ogden's finest. "To my next Great Adventure!"


End file.
